


masterpiece

by sincerelysobbe



Series: Skam Bingo Event (2020) [1]
Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelysobbe/pseuds/sincerelysobbe
Summary: Now, that all of his librarian work was done, at least until someone returned a book to the circulation counter and he would go off in search of its rightful spot, Robbe could focus on this essay, or a story, that his writing teacher had assigned as an “introduction” to their mindset as writers. And, the topic that had been chosen by his other 25 classmates wassoulmates.He let out a breath of air, burying his face in his hands.Robbe hated soulmates.Or, rather, he hated the idea of soulmates.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Series: Skam Bingo Event (2020) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657429
Comments: 17
Kudos: 268





	masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> So, Soulmate AUs are my absolute favorite trope of any AU ever and I love reading all of them. I love the names on the arms, having the same symbol, I love seeing color only if your soulmate is nearby, but one of my favorites is being connected by their skin. And, with Sander as an artist in canon, I absolutely HAD to use this one. Soulmate AUs absolutely FASCINATE me and so I had to do this one.

Thursday was  _ not  _ Robbe’s day. 

Thursday was, by far, Robbe’s longest and physically draining day. While his first class of the day didn’t start until a little before 12:00, his day wouldn’t end until about 23:00 which was when the library closed down. To add to his torture of a long day, thanks to extending his own shift so Amber could be picked up by her mother on her way home from work, his classes on Thursdays were particularly draining, filled with dry teachers that talked to the board and ignored any and all questions. 

Letting out a sigh, Robbe turned to his introductory essay which was pulled up in another tab of the computer in front of him. The head of the department didn’t care about them working on homework, as long as their other jobs were done first, and Robbe had already put up the remaining books in the library, straightened up the desks where the student workers sat, and filed away a stack or two of files for one of his superiors. 

Now, that all of his librarian work was done, at least until someone returned a book to the circulation counter and he would go off in search of its rightful spot, Robbe could focus on this essay, or a story, that his writing teacher had assigned as an “introduction” to their mindset as writers. And, the topic that had been chosen by his other 25 classmates was  _ soulmates. _

He let out a breath of air, burying his face in his hands.

Robbe hated soulmates. 

Or, rather, he hated the  _ idea _ of soulmates. 

As a kid, Robbe would sit and watch his mother doodle on her skin with her favorite pen, watch the curve of her letters, her small doodles of flowers, appear on the exact same spot on his father’s hand. His parents would smile at each other, love in their eyes, and tease each other when the other got a stain on their hand because it affected both of them. 

To little six-year-old Robbe, soulmates were everything that he had to offer and he thought that he didn’t have one because doodles never appeared on his skin. His mother had giggled at him, informing him that his soulmate’s doodles wouldn’t appear until  _ after  _ he reached puberty. Little Robbe had been confused as to why he had to wait, he now knew that the changing hormones and chemicals in the body at puberty that caused the connection to show fully, but no one, not even people researching and studying soulmates, could pinpoint how soulmates are chosen or when. 

To present-day, eighteen-year-old Robbe, soulmates were crap. 

His parents had been soulmates, had fallen in love, and got married, having Robbe shortly after. For the first eight years of Robbe’s life, his parents had been happily in love with one another. His father loved being home, loved cuddling his wife on the couch, to the point that Robbe would call them disgusting and throw a pillow at them and they would laugh. Then, his parents started fighting about little things, small minuscule details that shouldn’t matter. As the years went on, the fights got worse, louder and louder until Robbe couldn’t sleep at night anymore, sneaking out of his house and going to his best friend’s house to crash. Then, his father left them alone, found another woman who made him happier, and his mother spiraled, leaving Robbe caught in between, trying to help her.

His parents were soulmates and they had fallen out of love. 

If the one person that you were destined to be with was supposed to leave you anyways, what was the point of having the ability to connect with them on a physical level?

Letting out a sigh, Robbe reached out, typing angrily.  _ Soulmates are fucking stupid. _

“Woah there,” Zoë teased, walking up with a cup of coffee in her hand. 

Zoë was a barista and one of Robbe’s roommates. At the beginning of the year, Robbe had moved into the three-bedroom flatshare with her and a senior, Milan, because Robbe was  _ not  _ going to live with his dad, not after what he did to his mom, not with him and his new girlfriend. It was a minor miracle that the two of them had been so willing and that his father had been so understanding. His father wanted him to live in the dorms, but it was too expensive for Robbe. He was barely surviving month-to-month as it was and living in the dorms would be almost double the cost. 

“What’s wrong?” Zoë questioned. 

“What  _ isn’t  _ wrong?” Robbe questioned. “Of all the topics my writing class had to pick for our introductory assignment, they picked  _ soulmates _ .” Zoë scrunched up her nose, understanding. “And, I can’t think of anything to write other than  _ soulmates are fucking stupid _ .” As if she didn’t believe him, he turned the screen towards her and she stood on her toes to look, letting out a light breath through her nose. He let out a sigh, straightening the computer back. “Think that will get me full points?”

“I doubt it.” Zoë laughed. “Here, it’s from Chloë.”

“Again?” Robbe questioned. Chloë was a barista at the café, who had a crush on Robbe so obvious that even he could see it, which was saying something. When it came to realizing people having feelings for him, he didn’t have the best track record. Despite the fact that Robbe had several relationships, almost all of them had been as a result of the other person making the first move. “How many times have you told her that she’s not my type?” 

“Robbe,” Zoë laughed, reaching out to pat his head with a tone that says  _ many times _ . “I think the only way she’s going to be convinced that you aren’t interested in her is if she finds you making out with a guy. Not that I can blame her. You are a cute boy. Whether you want to admit it or not.” Robbe rolled his eyes before spotting the purple writing on the back of her hand. Zoë caught his gaze and scoffed. “My soulmate’s latest ‘conquest’,” she remarked, pivoting the hand towards Robbe so he could see. 

_ Had a good time tonight  _ was followed by a phone number, only the final digit was smudged. 

Robbe knew that he had a soulmate, of course, but his soulmate wasn’t the type of person who slept around a lot, or if they did, they didn’t have girls writing numbers on the back of their hand in hopes of a second round. 

On his sixteenth birthday, his best friend, Jens, had jokingly drawn a poor excuse of a birthday cake and sixteen candles on the back of his right hand (and Robbe will never admit to anyone how disappointed he was that it didn’t show up on Jens’ hand). Within an hour, as he sat in his biology class, his soulmate, whoever they were, had drawn an arrow to it and wrote  _ awful, zero stars on booking.com _ before proceeding to draw a perfectly drawn cake, in pen, with the exact number on the candles, on the back of his left hand. The drawing looked perfect, meticulous, and every year, on that same day, another cake would appear on his hand with an additional candle.

Robbe had a soulmate. 

Even if he didn’t want one. 

Zoë let out a heavy sigh, pulling him back into the world of the present. “Every morning I wake up with a new number on my hand is another morning I question if you have the right idea,” she admitted, staring at her hand. “Soulmates are crap. I’m always half-tempted to call the number, tell her that he’s just going to find someone else, but what’s the point, right? Plus, it’s missing a digit.” 

“Save a woman from getting her hopes up, probably. But, don’t worry,” Robbe remarked. “I’m sure he’ll get his head out of his ass soon.” 

“Excuse me,” a voice remarked, over Zoë’s shoulder. 

The two of them pivoted to find that a blond-haired man was standing behind them. The man was stunning, absolutely breathtaking as though he had been carved from stone. There was a black-beanie resting lightly on his head, covering the strands of white-blonde hair that poked out from the edge, and he had a pair of bright green eyes that were slightly hidden by the black-framed glasses on his nose. He was dressed in a pair of denim jeans, black converse, and a t-shirt with an artist that he didn’t recognize beneath his black hoodie. 

Robbe felt his breath catch in his throat. 

Looking like  _ that  _ in a hoodie, glasses, and a beanie was  _ ridiculously  _ unfair.

_ Especially  _ to Robbe. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” he continued, pushing up his green bag further up his shoulder. “But, I need to check out this book for my art history class.” 

“Of course,” Robbe replied, his voice cracking a little. There was a knowing look on Zoë’s face, a familiar eyebrow raised that she generally reserved only for Milan, as she shuffled to the side, taking the coffee with her. The man stepped forward, placing the book on the edge of the counter, and Robbe took the book from him, eager to make sure their hands didn’t touch. “Sorry about that. Do you have your id?”

“Yeah, it’s in here somewhere,” the man replied, digging his wallet out of his bag. He found it, handing it over to Robbe, their fingers brushing ever so slightly, almost like it was on purpose. Robbe felt a jolt shoot up his hand as he took the id in his hands, switching to the electronic check-out system, typing in his student id number and scanning the book. A name popped up.  _ Sander Driesen. _

Once Robbe had deactivated the electric security in the spine, he placed his id on top of the cover and slid it across the counter, “Here you go.” Robbe kept his hand on the other side of the book, making sure to pull his own hand away before Sander reached out to grab it. He took the book from the counter, grabbing his id and slipping it into his pocket. “It’ll be due on the 17th of next month.”

Sander sent him a grin, a slightly confident, slightly wicked grin, like he  _ somehow  _ managed to know the effect that he was having on Robbe and his already jumbled mind, almost as much as Zoë did. “Thank you, Robbe,” he remarked. At Robbe’s confused, puzzled look, Sander’s eyes dropped down to his chest and Robbe looked finding his nametag, wanting to slap his forehead. He glanced towards Zoë, who was still hanging off to the side with her chin against her palm, and Robbe thought he saw his eyes flicker down to her hand, recognition in his eyes, but then, Sander was smiling at her and saying to her, all confident and charming, “Sorry about interrupting your conversation.” 

“It’s completely okay,” Zoë replied. “I was about to leave anyway.”

Sander moved off, grinning at her, and Zoë handed Robbe his coffee, a knowing glint in her eye as she boosted herself up over the counter to press a kiss against his cheek. He shoved her away, wiping away the residue of her signature red lipstick, and Zoë ran out the door, giggling all the way and promising to save him some leftovers from dinner. Robbe let out a sigh, trying to return to his essay on stupid soulmates, but found his eyes looking for Sander, who had disappeared.

* * *

Robbe doesn’t know how he could’ve ever  _ not _ noticed someone as beautiful and handsome as Sander Driesen before he walked up to him and Zoë in the library. Because, now that he knows who Sander Driesen is, knows what he looks like and could pick him out in a crowd, it felt like Robbe was seeing him  _ all the fucking time.  _

Literally, Robbe couldn’t get away from him if he  _ tried. _

(Not that he necessarily wanted to.)

When Robbe would go to the Student Union, either with the boys or to meet Zoë and Milan or even a classmate that he had a project with, he always managed to find Sander Fucking Driesen  _ somehow _ . He would be with a group of boys, who Robbe recognized from parties, one of them Senne de Smet, and he would always be laughing or bent over a sketch pad. Robbe would see him at the coffee shop humming to himself and pushing up his glasses, in a secluded corner of the library as he put books back on shelves, at the park, at parties. 

To make matters worse, he was starting to make a habit of coming into the library, finding a table and drawing on his sketch pad. And, somehow, it was  _ always _ when Robbe was working on Thursday nights. He would show up around five minutes after the beginning of Robbe’s shift, disappear to get a coffee, only to return in the main lobby of the building, parking it at a random table that always miraculously managed to empty once he returned, and stay there until the library would close. And, then he was gone into the night like he never had been there in the first place. 

_ Honestly, _ Robbe thought, practically growling as he leaned against the wall of a party, gripping tightly onto the bottle of beer in his hand and desperately trying to pay attention to whatever Zoë and Jens were debating about, the bass booming all around him. But, how could he possibly pay attention to anything that they were saying when Sander Fucking Driesen was looking like  _ that _ . 

Unlike his best friend (from what Robbe could tell), Senne de Smet, Sander was half leaning against the wall, his eyes scanning the party and observing everything around him. He had been standing there dressed in a t-shirt that fit a little snugly on his shoulders, accenting the muscles beneath it, and a pair of skinny jeans that fit him perfectly. Even without his friends around him, he looked like a fucking  _ statue _ , chipped and carved from marble and left for others to simply stare and gawk at and be jealous of. 

With a realization, Robbe definitely let out a growl, earning the stares of his best friend and his roommate.

_ Fuck, _ he needed to get laid. 

Jens snapped his fingers in front of his face, pulling him back into reality. “Yo, Earth to Robbe,” Jens laughed, waving his hand in front of Robbe’s face. There was a smug smirk on Jens’ face and Zoë let out a giggle beside him, rolling her eyes as she took a sip of the soda she had swiped from the kitchen fridge. “What’s got you so distracted, huh? Is it that guy again?”

Robbe didn’t respond, glaring up at his best friend. 

Jens chuckled at him, shaking his head because he wasn’t surprised. Whenever the boys had caught Robbe staring at him, they would tease him endlessly and it only took a couple of moments of teasing before Robbe would manage to get the upper hand. With Aaron’s crush on Amber and Moyo’s attraction to Noor (a graphic-arts student that Moyo has been crushing on since day one) and Jens’ affinity for staring after a curly-haired boy from the Netherlands, it wasn’t a hard feat. 

“Bro, all you got to do is go up and  _ talk  _ to him,” Jens remarked, wrapping an arm around Robbe’s shoulder and pulling him close, nearly knocking him off balance and spilling his beer down the front of Jens’ shirt. Zoë laughed, but Jens paid no heed. “All you have to say is this ‘Hi, my name is Robbe IJzermans and I think you’re very attractive. Will you please shove your tongue down my throat?’” 

“Jens, if you wanted me to kiss you again, that’s all you had to say,” Robbe remarked, taking a sip of his beer and reaching up to pinch his best friend’s jaw. 

Jens peered at him, swatting his hand away. “Don’t you start. The two of us were drunk off our asses and didn’t know left from right and I do  _ not  _ want to be reminded of that again.” 

“Come on, I was the best kiss that you’ve ever had with a guy.”

“You’re the only guy I’ve kissed!” 

“Exactly!” 

Zoë was  _ cackling _ into her soda. 

“Anyways,” Jens remarked, sounding exasperated. “Just go up and  _ talk  _ to him. It’ll save you a whole of time pining over him about the ‘will you, won’t you’ thing that you’re about to drag us through.” As if to prove his point, he gestured to himself and Zoë, who nodded her head. “Who knows he might even be your soulmate?”

Robbe scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m going outside to smoke,” Robbe groaned, snagging one of the blunts from behind Jens’ ears. Despite that Robbe knew that he had one behind his other ear (and an entire bag of weed that they split in his pocket), his best friend let out a protest, trying to get it back, but Robbe was quicker, managing to escape his grasp. Robbe paused at the backdoor, turning back towards him and Zoë, who was chuckling, watching their interactions. “Also, why don’t you take your own advice before you go and lecture me about talking to someone?” 

Jens flipped him off and Robbe stepped onto the back porch. 

Compared to the hot pounding space in the house, the slight chill of the night and the silence in the air was comforting to Robbe. There was a small swing on the back porch, a small window that faced into the kitchen where a couple of girls were making out, and a swing set out in the backyard. All of the loud, pounding music from the party had been slightly dimmed, barely shattering the silent mystique of the backyard. 

Letting out a sigh, Robbe stepped off the small porch, his feet hitting the grass, and moved in the direction of the swing set. Placing the rolled-up joint between his lips, Robbe dug in his pocket for the lighter he had swiped from Moyo, finding it swiftly and smoothly. Once the joint was lit, Robbe felt himself take a long inhale, smoke filling his lungs, and he let the smoke out, watching it billow through the air and disappear. 

As Robbe collapsed on the swing set, pulling out his phone to text his mom, to see how she was adjusting after being released, he heard the back door swing open. Robbe didn’t glance up, figuring that it was Jens coming to join him, but as he typed out the message to his mom, his phone buzzed and his eyes flickered up at the notification. 

Jens. 

_ Heads up, lover boy. The guy you’ve been stalking just headed outside.  _

What?

Robbe glanced up, his eyes immediately going wide at the sight of Sander Fucking Driesen standing in front of him. There was a small smile, a fucking attractive smile, that turned up the corners of Sander’s face as he peered down at Robbe. “Mind if I join you out here?” 

“Uh,” Robbe started, feeling like a fish out of water. The smile grew smug, almost into a smirk, like he could read his mind, and that  _ somehow, _ he looked even more attractive. If possible. Robbe must’ve been drinking more beer than he realized. “Yeah, um, I don’t mind at all.” Without hesitation, the blond-haired plopped down on the swing beside him, bringing his own bottle of beer to his lips. Robbe took a long drag of the joint in his mouth, exhaling, watching the smoke billow through the air and disappear into the sky. 

“Can I have a drag?” Sander questioned. 

Robbe nodded his hand, reaching out to pass over the joint. Sander reached out, his fingers brushing against the knuckles of his fingers, quickly, deliberately, sending a chill down the notches of his spine. There was a smirk returning to Sander’s face, as his fingers clasped over the joint, plucking it delicately from Robbe’s fingers. Sander leaned back, bringing it to his lips, his eyes never tearing away from Robbe’s. The tip lit up in a flame as he inhaled.

“You don’t seem to like parties,” Sander spoke, suddenly, smoke slipping from his lips. 

“Huh?” Robbe questioned. 

Sander grinned, turning in the swing to face him fully. He leaned back against the opposing chain, staring at Robbe with those green eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness that surrounded them. Under Sander’s gaze, Robbe’s stomach flopped around, doing a choreographed dance in his chest, which only seemed to accelerate as Sander leaned forward, but he simply handed Robbe back the joint. Robbe took back with a half-smile that might’ve ended up looking more like a grimace. 

“You don’t,” Sander stated, matter-of-factly, as though it was obvious. “I’ve seen you at a couple of different parties, but you always seem to find a way to escape into a quiet corner or leave the party altogether.” Robbe heart thumped wildly in his chest, doing a second dance that involved more jumping than dancing. He could tell that his eyes had gone wide, he didn’t really care, because Sander had been watching  _ him _ too… and apparently more than once. “If you don’t want to be here, then why show up?” He took a sip of his drink before adding with a dazzling and brilliant smile, “Not that I’m complaining.”

Robbe’s cheeks flushed. “Generally, my best friend ends up dragging me to these.”

“The black-haired guy?” Sander questioned. Robbe nodded his head. “Why?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?”

“You intrigue me,” Sander replied, grinning at him. “So, why?” 

“I don’t know,” Robbe replied. It’s only half a lie. Robbe  _ did  _ know. Jens had been his friend for years. He had been there when Robbe still believed in soulmates and, at the end of the day, Jens wanted his best friend to be happy. Jens was convinced that if he  _ somehow  _ found Robbe’s soulmate, it might help his problems a little or soothe them. And, if he couldn’t, he could at least attempt to get Robbe laid in the process. Not like that’s really helped. Robbe placed the joint to his lips, taking another drag, “Parties have never been my thing in all honesty.” 

In high school, parties meant putting on a shield or a face where he didn’t have to think of his troubles, with his mom, with his parents, pretending that all he wanted was to go home with a girl. Back when Robbe was still firmly planted in the darkness of the closest, parties meant that he had to pretend to be the guy his best friends wanted him to be, not the guy he was. Since he stepped out and accepted himself, he thought that his old mindset was stupid because his friends still liked him, still loved him, but he still knew why he thought that, why he was so afraid of coming out. Sometimes, being at a party brought back those old feelings, and that’s when Robbe needed to escape, have a smoke.

Like now. 

“So, why does your friend drag you out to them?” Sander questioned, leaning towards him. His hand reached out, snagging at Robbe’s wrist. He flinched, only briefly, as Sander dragged his hand to him, leaning to place the tip of the joint against his lips. Sander’s eyes flickered up to Robbe’s, and the latter’s lungs tightened considerably. The edges of Sander’s lips weren’t far from Robbe’s fingers, and his brain was betraying him with unpure, distracting thoughts, and he swallowed, trying to ignore the grin that was being pulled up at the edges of his lips. “If he knows you don’t like them,” Sander added, the smoke spilling from his lips. 

Robbe shrugged his shoulders, still attempting to control his breathing. “Probably to find my soulmate or whatever. 

“Not a believer, huh?” Sander questioned, grinning at him, wide and contagious and  _ blinding _ . His hand dropped from Robbe’s wrist, but he could still feel the heat of his palm. Even with Sander so close, almost suffocating, and not necessarily in a bad way, Robbe could feel the tips of his smile turn up. Robbe shrugged his shoulders. “I get it,” Sander admitted, cocking his head to the side and looking up at him over the rim of his glasses. “It took me a long time to believe in soulmates. I never liked the prospect of being unable to control it, you know? Life’s like a movie with you in the director’s chair and soulmates kind of fucks with that philosophy. They’re something you can’t control.”

Robbe chuckled. “And, you’re a believer?”

Sander shrugged his shoulders, nonchalantly. “When you know, you know,” Sander spoke, a confession, so confident and bold that Robbe could feel his heart plummet in his chest a little, his eyes flickering away from Sander. Sander had already found his soulmate. Of course, Robbe thought, someone as beautiful and handsome as Sander Driesen would’ve found his soulmate. Sander shrugged his shoulder, bringing his beer bottle to his lips, taking another sip of his beer. “Or, I guess, anyways. I’ve only really heard stories from my mom and aunt.”

Robbe nodded his head, bringing the joint to his mouth and taking a drag. The smoke encompassed his lungs and he watched the flame dance at the end, trying to avoid looking up into Sander’s green eyes, the eyes that seemed to know him so well already. But, his eyes wandered up, spotting the blond looking at him intently with a small grin on his face. He brought the bottle to his lips again and Robbe’s eyes followed him without question, the way his lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. 

When Robbe glanced back up at Sander, there was a gleeful look present in his eyes and Robbe wondered, for a moment, if he imagined it. 

“So,” Sander spoke up. “Why aren’t you a believer in soulmates?”

Robbe let out a sigh, taking a sip of the beer that he had forgotten about, the liquid lukewarm against the inside of his throat. What should he say? Was he really about to spill his guts to Sander Driesen in the backyard of someone’s backyard about why he didn’t believe in soulmates? “It’s…,” Robbe trailed off, taking another drag of the joint. “It’s kind of hard to believe in soulmates when your parents were soulmates and the two of them split apart because your father decides that being with his soulmate and child isn’t enough for him…” 

“I’m sorry,” Sander spoke. Robbe glanced at him, spotting the genuine sorrow in his eye. The blond reached out, his fingers snagging against his palm, slipping to grip onto his hand. Robbe didn’t flinch away, relishing in the feeling of his thumb ghosting over the back of his hand. “That must’ve been hard.”

“It’s okay,” Robbe breathed out. Sander tilted closer to him, the chain of his swing creaking as he did and Robbe couldn’t help noticing the fact that their hands were still joined together. “I still had my mom and she believes in them. In fact, she’s honestly disappointed that I don’t believe in them anymore.” 

Sander grinned, a shy and cautious smile, one so different than the ones that Robbe was quickly growing used to, as he spoke, gently, “I don’t know. Maybe, we can still make a believer out of you.” 

There was a need to question what Sander meant, resting on the tip of his tongue, but his green eyes flickered down to Robbe’s lips, obviously and pointedly, and his throat went impossibly dry. Sander’s eyes connected deeply with Robbe’s eyes before dragging his eyesight back down to his lips. The urge to kiss Sander, beautiful and handsome, was overwhelming, to the point that he didn’t fully realize that he was leaning in until Sander’ tilted his chin up to align their lips together. 

Robbe could hear the chain squeak as Sander moved closer, the bass of the house being droned out, felt the brush of his lips against the soft skin of Sander’s, the gentle tickle of his breath as he breathed out of his nose, impossibly close. 

The back door slammed open, jolting the two of them apart. 

It was Zoë, her platinum hair meticulous and perfect, her red lipstick standing out in the darkness, but the sympathetic, sorrowful look in her face, like she knew what exactly she had just interrupted. Sander let out a breath, frustrated and disappointed, pulling away from Robbe, adjusting his glasses. Zoë stepped off the porch, moving towards the two of them on the swings, “We have to go home.”

“We do?” Robbe questioned. 

“Yeah,” Zoë replied. “Milan’s locked himself out of the apartment and he’s got to leave first thing in the morning to get back home for his mother’s birthday.” Robbe blinked up at her, confused why it had to be both of them. “You’re the one that drove here, remember?” Robbe let out a sigh,  _ oh right _ , digging his keys from his pocket, tossing them to her. He had too many drinks to drive home now and she seemed to understand, smiling over at Sander. “Guess it’s my turn to say sorry.” 

“Guess so,” Sander laughed, taking a sip of his beer. 

Robbe drowned the rest of his beer, standing up, as he handed Sander the rest of the joint. The flame had long since flickered out. The blond smiled up at him, taking the joint from his fingers, his fingers sliding over Robbe’s again, their eyes connected together as Sander spoke, deep, one eyelid fluttering shut as he stared up at Robbe, a quick wink, “See you later.” 

A flush crept up Robbe’s chest as quick as it was unexpected as he swallowed, trying to keep his voice even as he replied, “See you later,” before moving off with Zoë at his side, moving right alongside him. As the two of them stepped into the house, Zoë sent him a knowing look, biting down on her bottom lip, silently indicating that she was holding back the question. “Don’t start,” Robbe whispered, but a smile was threatening to form on his face, his cheeks flushing. Zoë nodded her head, looping their arms together, and guided him through the mass of bodies in the house.

* * *

Robbe played on his phone, shifting from foot-to-foot as he waited on his coffee order and for Zoë to get off her shift. His coffee was simple, but the workers knew that Robbe didn’t mind waiting, especially when there was an older gentleman who liked to be prioritized on Tuesdays because he’s a professor. Once he had finally gotten his coffee order and left the coffee shop with minimum grumbling, Zoë quickly made Robbe’s coffee, sliding it over to him as he grinned down at his phone. 

She peered to look, spotting the flirty message from Sander (who found him on Instagram and then they exchanged numbers), and grinned up at him. “Have you kissed him yet?” Zoë questioned, raising a curious eyebrow. “Or are you the person who falls in love before the first kiss?”

“Zoë,” Robbe spoke, his voice conveying the light warning. Chloë didn’t work on Tuesday afternoons, but Robbe knew the majority of the baristas in the library café especially ones that worked when he did. The last thing that Robbe wanted to do was to become the center of the library café rumor mill. But, judging from the look on Jana’s face, that might’ve been all for nothing already. 

“What?” Zoë questioned, undoing the apron from around her body, placing it on the hook, and taking the green cap off her head. Once she was rid of the uniform, Zoë collected her bag and moved to stand beside him as Jana handed Zoë a coffee. “Thank you, I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” Zoë told Jana quickly before they were leaving the café, headed out of the café towards the main entrance on the other side. “But, seriously, I know what I saw Robbe. Have you kissed him yet?” 

“What you saw? You mean what you interrupted?”

“Yes, fine,  _ details _ ,” Zoë replied, waving her hand like it was minuscule detail. Then, she rolled her eyes, “Look, it is not  _ my  _ fault that Milan called then, immediately, S.O.S.ing us to get our asses home! By the time that I realized, you were already pulling away!”

“And, you know what? Despite grilling us as soon as we got there for taking so long to get home when he was the one who left without making sure he had his keys, he still stayed up over half an hour to hear every single meticulous detail about what happened! And, that’s  _ definitely  _ your fault for telling him!” 

“Look,” Zoë spoke up, as they entered the lobby. She held up her hand in defense. “Okay, okay, I apologized and I will apologize to you again! I didn’t realize that my off-handed comment about you having to leave the guy that you’ve been  _ fantasizing about _ -”

“I have not been  _ fantasizing _ -”

“Yes, you have!” 

“No, I haven’t!” 

“Yes, you have! You should see the look in your eyes.  _ Anyways _ ,” Zoë cut him off before he could protest again. “I didn’t realize that my off-handed comment to Milan to explain why you  _ might’ve  _ been a little grumpy towards him would end in a long thirty-minute discussion about close the two of you had gotten and how beautiful he looked in the moonlight-” 

Robbe scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

As Robbe turned towards her, to cut her off or attempt to change the subject, he caught sight of a platinum-hair out of the corner of his eye, over Zoë’s shoulder. Almost like a habit, a subconscious tick in the back of his brain to seek out Sander, his eyes gravitated over to find exactly the person that he had been looking for. Sander. But, unlike normal, he wasn’t alone. One of the people sitting with him was Senne de Smet, laughing and grinning. The brunet was across from Sander at the table that he had chosen for the day. 

But, the girl with them is who caught his attention. It was a girl with dark black hair cut to a little below her chin with bangs, a septum piercing, and dark red lipstick. Her legs were draped over his lap and the two of them were sitting close together, one of her arms draped over his shoulders. Zoë pivoted to see what he was looking at just as the girl placed a kiss against his cheek, lingering a little. 

Senne glanced up and over, spotting the two of them, his eyes going wide for whatever reason, but Zoë had a hold of Robbe’s hand in an instant, tugging him out of the lobby and into the bright, annoying sunshine. She gripped his hand tightly, keeping her mouth quiet, and Robbe gripped her hand back as tightly. Once they were home, Robbe went into his room, but he could hear his roommates speak quietly outside, probably about him and what they saw. 

His phone buzzed. 

It was Sander.

_ Robbe, I can explain. Please? _

Robbe let out a sigh, dropping his phone on the bed and running his hand through his hair, tugging at the stands so hard that it hurt. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He knew that it was too good to be true that someone as beautiful as Sander Driesen would possibly be into someone into him. 

* * *

The worst part is that Robbe tries to pretend like everything is normal. 

He continued to go to his classes and take meticulous notes. He continued to meet up with Jens and the boys at the skate park and make dinner with Milan and Zoë and attend his annual study sessions with Yasmina on Mondays. He could tell that his friends were worried about him, that Jens might’ve been told what happened by Zoë, but Robbe didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to go about his normal day, as though nothing had happened, because it didn’t.

Right?

Sander had a girlfriend. Sander wasn’t interested in him. In all honesty, Robbe shouldn’t have been surprised. Someone like Sander would never be interested in someone like him. 

As Robbe sat at his computer, attempting to once again type his brain out for this  _ soulmate  _ piece for his writing class, due next week, he couldn’t concentrate and only part of it was because of Sander. 

No matter how much he tried to tell a positive experience with soulmates, he came up short. He thought of his parents, who fell apart, screaming and shouting, with the result being another relationship for his dad and a hospital for his mom and Robbe caught in the middle. He thought of Zoë and her soulmate that would have a new number on his hand every weekend. He thought of Milan and his story about how his soulmate didn’t want to be with a guy and how they had to part ways. 

All around Robbe were sad stories about soulmates not making it work.

The other reason was the fact that his soulmate seemed to be particularly active today. The prickling on his skin, like the round tip of a ballpoint pen tracing against his skin, was just present enough to be a noticeable distraction. Beneath his jacket, there were spirals and little drawings of things. One might’ve been a person, he wasn’t for sure about, going simply off the feeling of a pen, but it was absolutely  _ annoying _ similar to someone constantly tapping your shoulder when you were purposely trying to ignore them. At first, they were simply on his left arm, stars on his hands, lyrics on his forearm, but he could feel the pen against his chest now (and that wasn’t even  _ counting _ the black hue that had begun to linger on the fingertips of his fingers).

Whatever his soulmate was doing, they were doing something. 

And, in all honesty, Robbe was concerned about them.

In the years since their connection had solidified, their only constant communication was only the birthday cakes that they drew for his birthday. It would happen every year, on August 20th, and every year, the cakes would go unanswered. Robbe appreciated them, and he had photos of them buried in the photo storage on his phone, but he didn’t want a soulmate and what it entailed.

Occasionally, his soulmate would write reminders on his hand, usually, his left one, with small reminders, a little to-do list for them, as if putting it on your hand would make it easier to remember what you needed to do. Grab Mom’s prescription. Pick up Cam at 8. Complete tomorrow’s art journal. Occasionally, he would find lyrics on his skin (and, every time he looked them up, they were lyrics from songs written by David Bowie, which only made his heart seize because David Bowie meant Sander now) and, occasionally, he would find lightning bolts doodled on his hands.

Once, his soulmate wrote an address on the back of his hand and Robbe had looked it up out of mild curiosity. It had been a house, but Robbe didn’t know what to do with the information, so he ended up leaving it alone, only tracing over the letters as the original ones faded away. His soulmate had realized writing  _ Thanks!  _ and then  _ You can come if you want. It’s a party.  _

But, despite being invited, despite being curious even though he didn’t want a soulmate or anything to do with soulmates, Robbe didn’t go to the party. 

There was prickling on the back of his hand, the curve of words against his skin.

_ Lived with the best of times _ _  
_ _ Left with the worst _

Robbe let out a sigh because he knew that one, another David Bowie lyric because Sander had been the one to send it to him last week, exiting out of his document because he knew he wouldn’t get anything done, and buried his face into the curve of his elbow. 

* * *

It was Thursday. 

On a normal Thursday, Robbe would already be out of the library, halfway home, dreaming of his bed already and the comfort that it had provided. But, midterms were fast approaching, which meant a higher level of traffic, especially in the later hours of the night. There were a large number of books that had been returned  _ after  _ Amber had gone home and Robbe was unable to get away from the desk long enough to put them all back. It would be at least another hour until all of the books were in their books on the shelves and he would  _ finally  _ be able to leave, to get back to his apartment, climb beneath his covers and  _ sleep _ . 

But, he had spent the last hour of his shift sorting them by which section of the library that they had gone to, and then further by alphabetical order to make it easier, more efficient, less time-consuming for the sleepy, tired Robbe. So, as soon as he made sure that the library was clear and locked all the doors to the outside, he moved around the library, placing the books back on the shelves where they were designated to go, their own personal nook. 

As Robbe placed the final book in his current stack back in it’s assigned location, someone spoke, “Why haven’t you been responding to me?” 

Robbe jumped five feet in the air, slamming into his cart and nearly knocking it over and nearly falling over in the process, whirling around to find Sander standing at the end of the row of shelves. There was a grief-stricken look on his face, bags beneath his bright green eyes, only illuminated further by the glasses perched on the end of his nose. He had a hoodie over his shoulders with David Bowie on it, a pair of skinny jeans, and his converse. Robbe let out a breath, trying to steady his heart. “What the fuck, Sander? How did you even get in here?!” 

“Door was unlocked.”

“No, it wasn’t. I know because I’m the one who locked them all.”

“Don’t worry, I locked it back.” 

“Sander-”

“Why haven’t you been answering me back?” Sander questioned, cutting him off and stepping forward. His step was bold and confident, moving towards Robbe, igniting the ever-consuming tornado in his brain, his thoughts spiraling and spinning around. “I’ve been trying to explain.”

“Explain what?” Robbe questioned. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground beneath him. Sander took another cautionary step closer to him, his green eyes staring intently at Robbe, and Robbe had to look away as he breathed out, “The fact that we almost kissed at that party and you were flirting with me, but then I spotted you with your best friend and a girl that seemed to be your girlfriend on a day I don’t normally work?” 

“Yes,” Sander replied. “But, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“It seemed like it.”

“I know what it seemed like,” the blond spoke, sounding desperate. He took a step closer to Robbe, a little out of arm’s reach away from him. Despite all of Robbe’s natural instincts to flee because Sander wouldn’t like him in the way that he likes him, his feet remain planted to the ground, unable to step away, rooted deep in the carpet of the library floor, wanting to hear what he had to say. “But, she isn’t my girlfriend. In fact, she’s practically like my sister.” Robbe opened his mouth to make a quip, only to be cut off, “So much so that she’s the only person I trust to be my fake girlfriend whenever my ex shows up and she was there at the library when you and Zoë showed up.”

“Your ex?” Robbe spoke up.

Sander nodded his head. 

“Who’s your ex?” Robbe questioned. 

There wasn’t any hesitation as he spoke, “Britt Ingelbrecht.”

“She’s never mentioned you.”

“Good,” Sander remarked. “She doesn’t have that positive of an opinion on me.” 

“Yeah, me neither,” Robbe mumbled. 

“See? Her mistake,” the artist whispered. Robbe chuckled to himself, lightly, and Sander took another step closer to him. His hand reached up, nervously, cautiously, cupping Robbe’s face, his thumb grazing along his cheekbone. The touch was gentle, soothing, and his eyes closed momentarily, leaning into the brush of his hand. “There’s only one person I want… and it’s not Britt or her, okay?”

There was a look in Sander’s eyes, intense and focused on Robbe. The look in his eyes that made his chest fill in his ribcage, his heart pound against his ribs, like his heart was about to do one of two things, launch itself at Sander or run the other direction. Robbe wasn’t sure which one his heart would eventually decide on, but he felt like he didn’t have a choice on which one would eventually win out. Sander’s green eyes flickered down to his lips and Robbe felt his chest tighten, squeeze, as his own eyes trailed down to Sander’s lips. 

“Hey, Robbe,” Sander spoke up, softly, pulling him out of his tired thoughts. Robbe stared back up at his bright green eyes, which conveyed a little nervousness but was overall confident and commanding. “Can I kiss you?” 

His breath caught in his throat, unable to form the words that he wanted to say,  _ yes _ ,  _ yes _ ,  _ kiss me _ , so Robbe reached out, his fingers snagging the fabric of Sander’s hoodie, tugging him closer. Sander stepped forward and Robbe stood on his toes, angling his face up to angle their lips to meet. Sander’s hands were warm and comforting, holding him in place, but the feeling of his lips on his was too much and too good, and somehow, Robbe’s entire body managed to scream,  _ finally _ . 

Whatever parts of Robbe’s body were screaming for sleep had changed their tune. They didn’t want sleep anymore, the sweet reprieve of the busyness of his own thoughts from the past week, but now, all they wanted was Sander and the feel of his soft lips against his own, the sweet feeling that he had been imagining for weeks now. Robbe clung to his hoodie, pulling him closer against him, snaking one hand around his shoulders to pull him even closer. Sander’s fingers slid into the hair at the nape of Robbe’s neck, digging in and pulling just a little. His other hand dropped to his waist, clinging to his side, pulling him closer. 

Robbe was out of breath, reluctantly pulling away to catch his breath. Sander rested his forehead against his own, letting out his own breath of relief. It spread across Robbe’s face, and he doesn’t look up at him, because he felt it too. In the way that Sander’s shoulders relaxed beneath his hands, in the way that he tilted in Robbe’s embrace, clinging to him a little tighter. Robbe smiled, opening his eyes to stare at Sander, only to find him already looking. 

Grinning, Robbe stood to kiss him but Sander had the same idea so they met somewhere in the middle, their lips dragging together furiously. Robbe pulled at Sander’s hair, clinging to the hoodie and him, their lips moving together ferociously and needy. Sander let out a whine, trapped somewhere between where their lips met, and the hand on his hip left him before Robbe’s back was slamming against the wall, actually, the  _ bookshelf _ nailed to the wall. It hurt, a little bit, but not enough to seriously hurt him, not enough to make him want to stop, and none of the shelves broke beneath the force of his body colliding against the wood. But, Robbe knew that Sander didn’t mean to hurt him, or knock the breath out of him, but it might’ve turned him on a little too much considering the fact that they were still in the library. 

“Are you okay?” Sander mumbled, between the presses of their lips. 

“Mhmm,”

“Did I hurt-” 

Robbe pulled him closer against him, cutting the artist’s question off. Sander let out a relieved sigh, his arms wrapping around his waist between his body and the bookshelf and pulling Robbe’s smaller body tighter against him. The brunet clung tightly to his hoodie, relishing in the fact that he was so small in Sander’s arms, fitting between the muscles of his arm like a puzzle piece that belonged there. Sander’s hand dug deeper into his hair, pulling lightly at the stands that were long enough to curl, and Robbe sighed, wanting to hook his leg over his waist, to undo his pants, right here in the library, but a voice in the back of his head told him that he probably shouldn’t.

“I…” Robbe trailed off. Sander pressed another kiss to his lips and Robbe relishes in it, holding their lips together for just a little longer, just a bit more. “I need to close up before…” Another kiss, heated and passionate, and Robbe never wants to separate, only wants to kiss Sander until the night guard comes, until he gets fired as an assistant, and  _ that’s  _ the thought that wakes him up. “I need to close, Sander.”

Sander nodded his head, placing a quick peck against his lips. It was a lingering kiss, but only a little, enough to stir Robbe’s insides but not enough to keep him rooted there. Sander pulled back, staring down at him through his eyelashes. Then, he spoke, “Mine or yours?” Robbe grinned, still out of breath from their previous kisses, gravitating towards Sander’s lips despite his best intentions. They needed to get out of here soon, but Robbe never wanted to leave. Sander let out another breath, “Please say yours.”

Well, he couldn’t pass that one up, “ _ Yours _ .” 

Sander snorted, a cute, adorable sound that Robbe wanted to make him do over and over again, before dragging their lips together again, needy and wanting and pulling their bodies closer together. 

It lasted for a while, longer than either one intended, the renewed frenzy in their stomachs, until Robbe had to practically  _ push _ them apart, keeping Sander at an arm’s distance, as he put the final touches on the closing shift. He left a note for the morning worker, apologizing for the remaining two stacks of books, and turned out the lights, snagging Sander’s hand in his own, pulling him from the library and locking it behind him with the key on his key ring. 

Sander kissed him again. This one was long and lingering, open-mouthed and slightly filthy but Robbe doesn’t mind, clinging to his hoodie and him, responding back to the kiss equally as much. As they kissed, Robbe led Sander in the direction of the bike racks and the artist followed willingly, backing the smaller man with his hand on his hips, one arm hooked around him to keep him close, even as they kissed harder and faster. “Mine or yours?” he breathed out, breathless and needy. There’s a dazed look on his features as Robbe wrapped his arms around him and Sander confessed, “I don’t think I can physically depart from you right now.” 

Robbe let out a laugh, pulling their lips together briefly. “ _ Mine _ ,” he decided. “And, I don’t think that I can part from you either.” Sander grinned, brightly, the kind that managed to make him look several years younger and they kissed again, Robbe pulling the blond tighter against him, not caring about the frame of the glasses slightly digging into the space between his eyebrows. “But you have to be quiet or you might get an earful from Zoë.” 

Sander grinned up at him. “Good to know. I’ll prepare myself.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” Robbe mumbled, pressing their lips together again, his back colliding against the seat of someone’s bike (it was Sander’s, he later learned) and Sander let out a whine against his lips, trying to pull him closer, but they couldn’t go any further. Not here. Not now. “I’ll protect you.” 

Sander smiled, whispering “My hero,” before pulling one last kiss out of him before they separated temporarily to get on their bikes and get to Robbe’s apartment. 

* * *

Af first, Robbe heard the faint sound of his alarm, his mind waking him up and his eyes blinking open slowly, reminding him that it was now Monday morning, that he had a project that he needed to start working on this week. But, he felt someone’s arms cling tighter around him as he moved to silence the alarm, a nose press a little further at the base of his hairline, a gentle breath exhaling on the back of his neck, and Robbe felt a small smile creep onto his face, tugging up the corners of his lips, as he reached out to silence the phone. 

Then, Robbe turned in his arms, facing the man sleeping behind him. The arms wrapped so snugly around him sifted to accomodate Robbe’s movements, but the man, Sander Driesen, didn’t wake up to blink up at him with his sleepy bright green eyes. 

Not that Robbe minded. 

At all. 

In the past few weeks, wrapped up in each other’s arms, Robbe had learned a lot about Sander. He learned that the man had a younger sister that was a first-year and that Senne had become his best friend since they started uni together, sharing a dorm, becoming the brother that Sander never had. He learned that the blond had been fascinated with drawing and photography and anything else artistically related. But, Robbe also learned that Sander had walls about a mile high that he couldn’t climb without Sander tearing them down a little. 

Robbe didn’t want to push, but he could recognize it all the same. 

But, like this, Sander still asleep without his glasses and his leather jacket and the shirts and jeans and the  _ motorcycle  _ that he liked to hide behind, a faux label meant to distract from the absolute _ nerd  _ that was hidden beneath, Robbe felt like he could actually see the true Sander. Or, as close to the true Sander as he could get with his tall walls. Robbe didn’t mind, he liked being able to look at him like this, unashamed. Like this, Sander wasn’t worried about his messy hair from sleep (or something else, but just sleep tonight), wrinkles pressed in his cheeks from the pillow, healing divots on the bridge of his nose from his glasses, the small crinkle of a smile on his face. 

Sometimes, at parties that they both ended up being at or when Robbe spotted Sander sitting in the lobby drawing away waiting for his shift to be over, there were moments that Robbe feared that he imagined the entire thing all, Sander’s flirtatious comments, the kisses in the back of the library, the jokes wrapped in each other’s arms. Like, if he were to walk over to Sander, the artist wouldn’t know who he was, would forget all the kisses that they shared. But, every time, he was wrong. As soon as he saw him free, Sander would greedily press their lips together, relishing in his kiss before dragging them out of wherever they were.

Robbe smiled at Sander’s sleeping form, moving to press a kiss against his cheek, then the divots on the bridge of his nose, before slipping out of bed. He could hear Sander let out a little whine of protest, “Where are you going?”

“To get food,” Robbe replied. 

“No, come back.”

“I can’t,” Robbe chuckled. “You might not have early morning classes, but I do.” 

“That’s your own fault for choosing them,” Sander mumbled. “You can just not go? Stay in here with me, all wrapped up and cozy. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

It sounds tempting, but he had to take notes for Yasmina. She was away with her parents for the week. “I’ll be back later,” Robbe replied, slipping a t-shirt over his body. Sander let out a sigh, smiling, and Robbe couldn’t help himself, climbing back on the bed to press their lips together. Sander pressed his lips back up against Robbe’s and he let out a sigh, whispering out  _ good luck _ before shifting to Robbe’s side of the bed and burrowing his face into the pillow he had used. 

Robbe laughed, pulling on his jeans, and grabbing a bundle of socks, slipping out of the bedroom. 

Zoë was in the kitchen, brewing coffee. Her hair was half pulled up, her makeup done perfectly, and she glanced over at him with a small smile on her face. She was still sleepy, still dressed in a pair of pajama pants with an oversized sweater that hung on her upper body. She gave him a small smile with a knowing look in her eye as she poured them both a cup of coffee. “Is Sander still asleep?”

“Yeah,” Robbe mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

After Zoë had caught Robbe trying to sneak Sander out on Friday morning, the two of them had a talk about what Sander had admitted. Truth to be told, Robbe was worried that Zoë wouldn’t approve and, aside from his own mother, Robbe cared about Zoë’s opinion a lot. While he was at work, Sander came over and the two of them had talked, seemingly getting along because he arrived home to the two of them laughing over a cup of coffee. 

But, the look on Zoë’s face made him pause and squint his eyes. “Why?”

Zoë turned towards him, bringing her cup to her mouth. “Have you guys talked about it?”

“Talked about what?”

“Your  _ soulmates _ ,” Zoë remarked, her voice low as she glanced to the doorway into the hallway. “Surely, the two of you have talked about it.” Robbe paused, shaking his head, partially avoiding looking into her eye, and Zoë let out a sigh. “ _ Robbe _ -”

“Zoë, I can’t think about that right now.” 

He couldn’t. 

Before Sander, Robbe didn’t date. There were one night stands, at parties or through Milan’s dating apps, but there was never anything long term. Maybe a few dates here or there, but Robbe would never let them continue further than a date or two. He didn’t want a soulmate but that didn’t mean that everyone felt the same way as him. He knew that Sander believed in soulmates and the harsh reality was that it was only a matter of time before Sander’s soulmate arrived, cutting through the last few weeks of blissful happiness like a sharp knife that pierced his stomach. 

Robbe’s soulmate wouldn’t have changed anything. 

In the weeks since their kiss in the library, the hushed quiet moments wrapped in each other’s arms, as Sander traced a path between his freckles, kiss the skin of his shoulders and neck and cheeks until he left purple bruises beneath his lips, Sander never mentioned a soulmate and Robbe never spotted drawing on the flesh of his skin. There were no to-do notes on his hand or drawings on his shoulders or arms. People who didn’t have soulmates were rare, but Robbe couldn’t have been that lucky.

“Robbe,” Zoë whispered. “I know that you’re trying to protect yourself. But, if you go on worrying about Sander’s soulmate showing up, the only thing that you’re going to do is hurt yourself!” Robbe bit down on his lip and looked away from her, taking a sip of his coffee. “I know how much Sander means to you and you’ve been so happy these last few weeks. But, the last thing that I want to do is to see you get hurt.”

Robbe drank the rest of his coffee, the liquid burning his tongue (and his throat) and he placed the cup in the sink, filling it up with water. “I have to meet a friend from my class.” 

“Robbe.”

“I’ll see you later, Zoë.” 

* * *

Robbe knew that Zoë had a point. 

There was a reason that he had been unable to ask Sander about his soulmate. He was afraid. If he opened the doorway on the prospect of Sander having a soulmate, it was likely that Sander would end up leaving him for his soulmate. It was frighting, how quickly Sander had become an important piece of Robbe’s life, so important that Robbe would genuinely miss him, miss the feeling of him in his bed, miss the ability to look up and see him in the lobby, head bent over a table and drawing away. 

His father had left his soulmate for someone else, someone who made him happy, someone who made him feel things that his wife no longer made him feel. But, things with Sander were different. They weren’t soulmates and Robbe didn’t care if they were. He wasn’t a believer in them. At all. If soulmates were supposed to be the person you were meant to be with for the rest of your life, how could your soulmate abandon you when things get tough?

And Sander knew that. 

Soulmates didn’t change anything for Robbe, but Sander was a believer. Robbe had learned that the night that they had almost kissed. Behind Sander’s bravado of confidence and smirks, Robbe could feel that Sander was just as insecure as he was. He doesn’t know how he could tell his uncertainty, but he just could. It was in the way that Sander held him, in the nervousness from their first kiss, in the way that he held Robbe a little tighter at night, his head buried into Robbe’s neck, like he was worried Robbe might float away, leaving him.

But, Robbe wasn’t going to do that. 

Soulmate or no soulmate, Robbe wasn’t going to leave Sander. 

He didn’t care  _ who  _ his soulmate was as long as he had Sander by his side.

Spontaneously, Robbe grabbed the black pen on the desk, clicking it. His eyes wandered over to the cluster of tables and chairs in the lobby, looking for platinum-blond hair that he knew wasn’t there. Sander was in class now, he had sent Robbe a slightly provocative text to let him know that he was expecting payment for Robbe abandoning him this morning. Robbe’s shift was over in thirty minutes, but he usually hung around until Sander was out of class.

Pressing the pen against the back of his hand, Robbe wrote out a message, one that he knew he needed to have with his soulmate. Face-to-face.  _ Hey. I know that we haven’t talked, but I go to Antwerp University. Can we meet up? I need to talk to you. _

Robbe waited several minutes before he felt the prickling of his hand, not quite a ballpoint pen. Judging from how wide the letters were, it must’ve been a marker or a Sharpie. Robbe watched the message take shape on the pale skin of his hand, handwriting that he had recognized from the David Bowie lyrics and the to-do lists on the back of his hand, the birthday cake, the ones he never responded to but had read all the same.  **_I go there too. What time do you want to meet?_ **

Robbe let out a shaky breath, writing beneath it.  _ 30 minutes. Outside the library? _

**_Sure._ **

Robbe let out a breath, glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s bright red, digital letters blinked down at him with every passing second, suffocating and menacing to remind him of what he was going to do. What he  _ had  _ to do. Robbe had about thirty minutes to figure out what he was going to say, what he was going to do. The last thing that Robbe wanted to do was to break someone’s heart. 

But, how could he say ‘ _ I don’t care who you are to me, but I don’t want to be with you. I want to be with someone else, someone who makes me feel safe and loved and I want to be with him and he isn’t you’  _ without unintentionally breaking the heart of his soulmate?

* * *

Standing in the shadows of the clock tower across from the library, Robbe shifted from foot-to-foot as he played with the wheels of his skateboard, fidgeting nervously. He was going to be late to meet the boys at the skatepark and he had already sent Jens a message to warn him of his lateness. His best friend had questioned as to why, but Robbe didn’t want to explain, not over the phone, that he was about to tell his soulmate, the one person that he was destined to be with (according to some other astronomical law that they had no control over) that he didn’t want to be with them. 

That he wanted someone else. 

“Hey!” Robbe glanced up, surprised. It was Sander. The blonde walked towards him, his hands in his pockets without his backpack or his beanie that he had been wearing in the picture he sent, and there was a brief shot of panic that soared through Robbe’s entire body. Sander  _ couldn’t  _ be here. If Sander knew what he was about to tell his soulmate, being such a believer of them, the artist would most  _ certainly _ be upset and tell Robbe that he should pursue his soulmate. 

“Sander,” Robbe spoke, his eyes darting around them, trying to pick anyone walking towards them in the crowd. But, they were all passing by the two of them, all of them oblivious to the panic that was filling Robbe’s bones. Sander shouldn’t be here. The artist didn’t need to know that Robbe was basically about to dump his soulmate because he wanted to be with Sander. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in class.” 

“I was,” Sander spoke, nervousness in his voice, unable to look up at Robbe’s brown eyes. The blond shifted from foot-to-foot and Robbe watched him confused. But, then, Sander pulled his left hand out from the pocket of his leather jacket, reaching out to clasp his hands over the one holding Robbe’s skateboard against his thigh, and Robbe glanced down at their joined hands.

His eyes practically flew out of his sockets, his own handwriting shining back up at him in the black ink pen that he had used. Robbe had known enough about his handwriting to recognize the words, even if his letters started to blend together, looping together in quick succession. 

His words on Sander’s hand…

_ They  _ were soulmates.

Robbe glanced back up at Sander, his brown eyes meeting Sander’s forehead and the frames of Sander’s black glasses as he stared down at their joined hands and their matching handwriting. The blond hadn’t pulled away from him, not yet. His hand still firmly clasped over Robbe’s smaller hand, his thumb running across the letters on the back of Robbe’s hand. But, Robbe wanted to see the truth in Sander’s green eyes, the truth in what he was thinking, that  _ they  _ were soulmates. 

Sander was his soulmate. 

“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed,” Sander whispered, avoiding Robbe’s eye. “I know that you don’t believe in soulmates all that much and I understand why. But, I would understand if you don’t want to stay with me because I’m your soulmate.” 

“Sander,” Robbe started. 

“No, I get it,” Sander spoke. “What happened to your parents and your father leaving your mother… it’s a lot and I get that and I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore now that you know that I’m…” He trailed off, avoiding Robbe’s eyes. 

Robbe let out a sigh, grabbing the lapels of Sander’s jacket with one hand, the one that Sander wasn’t holding onto. Sander’s green eyes flickered up to him, but Robbe stepped closer, standing on his toes to press their lips together, lightly. Sander let out a breath, his hands moving to Robbe’s hair, his fingers running through it and pulling him closer against him. Sander’s kiss turned desperate and Robbe felt himself growing desperate as well, but there was a feeling of clarity in the back of his mind. 

Of course, his brain thought. Of course, it was Sander all along. 

Sander pulled away and Robbe stared up at him, spotting the insecurity behind Sander’s glasses, buried deep in the green hue of his eye. “So, you’re not disappointed?” 

Robbe shook his head, staring up at Sander, making sure that the artist was staring right at him as he whispered, “I’m not disappointed, Sander. When it comes to you, I could never be disappointed. Not when it’s you.” 

“Are you sure?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Robbe whispered, smiling up at him. “Actually, I only asked my soulmate to come here because I was going to tell them that I didn’t want to be with them.” Sander’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his head tilting to the side. “Well, I didn’t know it was you, but I knew I didn’t want to be with them. Because, how could I ever want to be with them when I had you?”

It felt cheesy and corny to say it aloud, but Sander grinned down at him, pushing their foreheads together and beaming down at him. There was a teasing look in his eye, but his entire face was lit up in a bright and brilliant smile that Robbe wants to see for a long time. “Oh, so from what I’m hearing, you were going to stop things from ever happening with me… to be with me.” 

Robbe laughed, “Something like that.” 

Sander let out a breath, one of relief or a giggle, he isn’t for sure. But, Sander raised his eyes again, his bright green eyes meeting Robbe’s brown ones and whispered out. “But, you’re not disappointed?”

Robbe shook his head. “I’m not disappointed. Because, if it was anyone in the world, I would want it to be you.” Sander grinned at him, bright and dazzling and blinding, and Robbe stands on his toes to pull their lips together again, heated and messy and definitely a little too-much for right outside the library. Robbe pulled back, glancing up at him. “Are you?”

“Fuck no,” Sander whispered, running his hand through Robbe’s hair. “But, I’ve known for a while.”

“What? How long?”

“About two months?”

“What?” Robbe spoke, his eyes wide as he pulled away from him, staring up at him. “We only met about a month ago!” 

Sander’s cheeks flushed and his hands dropped down to Robbe’s waist, holding him in place against his chest with the skateboard trapped between them. “I saw you one day, it was really late on a Thursday and you were half asleep. I was procrastinating on this big assignment for my art history class and I looked over and saw you sitting there at the circulation desk, concentrating on sorting books, and… I just knew.” His eyes flickered back over to Robbe, their eyes meeting again. “Before I left, I saw one of my doodles on your hand as you went to lock the doors so I confirmed it then…” 

“Oh,” Robbe whispered. 

“And, when we talked at the party and we talked about how you didn’t believe in soulmates, I thought that maybe I could just settle on being your friend, you know? But, then, when we almost kissed, I knew that I wanted to be with you. In whatever way that ended up being, whether it be a friend or something more or a soulmate-”

“Sander,” Robbe spoke up, swallowing and making an obvious show of staring down at his lips. “Not to sound completely ungrateful, or completely insensitive, but since the moment I met you, I have never wanted to be  _ just  _ your friend.” 

Sander raised an eyebrow, the flirty smile returning to his lips. “Oh? And, what exactly did you want me to be?”

Robbe rolled his eyes, standing on his toes and dragging their lips back together. There was a content hum from Sander, his lips pressed heatedly against Robbe’s, pulling him closer and closer, opening his mouth without a care in the world, so easily, and Robbe grinned into the kiss. He clung onto Sander’s jacket with one hand, pulling him closer against him, until there was nothing between them, save for the skateboard that was protruding against their hips, still half held up by Robbe’s hand on the edge. 

Then, Sander pulled away, a wide, panicked look on his face. 

“Shit! I’m sorry, I have to get back to class before my teacher gives me a thirty-minute long lecture!” He seized Robbe’s face in his hands, kissed him quickly and hurriedly, as light as a feather, before he was rushing off, shouting over his shoulder and leaving Robbe with his arms still where Sander had stood moments before, a little dazed and confused. “I’ll see you sometime this evening! Have fun with the boys!” 

Robbe laughed, biting down on his lip, as he watched Sander, his boyfriend, and his  _ soulmate _ , race back to class. The brunet bit down on his lip, dropping his skateboard on the ground, and kicked off lightly, hard enough to get momentum but not to go very fast. He pulled up his group text with Zoë, Milan, and Jens where the last text messages, debating on which of them would be the best singer and sent them a message with a grin on his face, nerves in his stomach.

_ Sander’s my soulmate. _

Zoë replied  _ REALLY _ and Jens’ response was  _ I KNEW IT _ and Milan must’ve been in the midst of typing as he tucked his phone away, but Robbe didn’t care about their reactions. Now that Robbe had found his soulmate, in the form of Sander Fucking Driesen, the concept of soulmates didn’t seem that scary anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on Tumblr at --> ravenbrenna09.tumblr.com


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